Amateur Night (No NOT that type of Amateur Night)

First off, Happy Halloween! Too bad it’s on a Monday…sucky. Amateur Night is something my friend Garron refers to ,mostly pertaining to New Years Eve, but in my case this past Saturday the Amateur Night reference pertained  to my complete inability to ride a 2 ton beach cruiser dressed like Bernie all from SE to NE, loops in NE then all the way back to SE. I had a blast being able to hit four parties in one night and throughout the ride I noticed all the other parties that could have been crashed.

However, I felt like the fat kid in PE...last in line, heaving and tennis grunting up hills. Periodically stopping so that my heart beat would stop pulsating through every limb in my body. I felt like crap making my BF wait up for me…but I had no other choice but to fight threw the impeding heart attack and keep up. I mean hell, I had already pep talked the shit out of myself earlier with choice phrases like “You can do this, it just one night of bike riding!” “You know you will kick yourself if you don’t go!” “You do the elliptical for an hour at the gym, what could a trip to NE do?”

I’ll tell you what it did. Charlie horse times a million, I felt like my knee caps where excreting ooze that was whispering “fuck you Hallie.” The thought of going up or down a flight of stairs was on par with envisioning falling off a cliff in an unsafe car. My bestie was a bottle of IB Profen yesterday and I probably won’t go the gym again, at least until my legs feel like they were not beat up by a bar of soap in a tube sock.

Some of my favorite costumes I saw throughout the night were: Captain Crunch, Wayne and Garth (2 sets!), Amy Winehouse (only because it was being rocked by a large lumberjack type fellow) there was a good Bettleguise, a  Gallagher/watermelon combo and a creation called “zipperface.”

Some of the worst costumes of the night: Slutty beer wench, Slutty cop, Dead Hooker, and pretty much any costume that allowed a girl to use the universal excuse of Halloween to show off their tits and ass and not feel bad about it. However, they should feel bad, because at this point they should know that everyone is on to their little scheme and they should really just cross-dress.  There is so much more pleasure getting that “weirdo look” from men as you shop in their clothing department.  Fake Mustaches are more fun too, but they tickle the shit out of your nose, and in my case even make you sneeze a little. Ah Halloween I love and hate you all at the same time.

When Private Security Goes Horribly Wrong and Daniel Stern’s Lame Activism

Last night’s Halloween double feature were 2 little gems from the 80’s, the best decade for awesomely bad horror movies;  Chopping Mall (1986) and C.H.U.D. (1984). It was fight to the death about what film would be dubbed “less sucky” by Sean, BF and I.  I think in the end  what sucked the most was the popcorn because like the movies, my microwave is also from the 80’s.

Chopping Mall- “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just not that used to getting chased around the mall in the middle of the night by killer robots!” Neither am I sweetheart and you probably would not be in this situation if you would’ve moved your make out party to a real house instead of the furniture outlet store in the mall conventionally located next to a shop simply called “Italian.”

Three robots dubbed the “protectors” are commissioned to patrol the mall at night when no one is supposedly there.  Looks like some foolish adults once again underestimated the teenage ability to break rules and totes party hardy wherever they feel like it.

The acting was truly awful and most of the deaths were subpar robot hand chokings. The cover of the box promised me body parts in a shopping bag but alas it never happened. What did happen was robot lasers. Lasers that blew up somebody’s head in front of “The House of Almonds”, another generically named mall kiosk.  It was the best scene in the movie.

The gang has to plot ways to destroy the bots who after killing someone politely say “Have a nice day.” Let’s just say they find a gun store, whip up some Molotov cocktails and play cat and mouse for a good hour before the bots are destroyed and the only person left was the most annoying to begin with. Sweet soundtrack pumped full of ominous synthesizers and radical tunes to underage drink to (although my cohorts thought maybe the victims were a tad on the collage side, great fucking job casting department, NOT!). Over all, Chopping mall won my heart with it’s title and the fact that it was better than..

C.H.U.D.

I don’t know what the fuck this movie was trying to be. Social commentary about public welfare’s treatment of the homeless? John Heard’s photography career? Daniel Stern’s lame attempt to channel an Occupy Portland protester? I just want to see some fuckin’ CHUDS already!

First we get to see a CHUD bite, which looked more like an unattended “Nam” mortar wound except more glisteny. Then we get to see fat politicians and police grumble over what to do about the missing homeless people in the sewer and who acts more like a douche bag.

At one point Daniel Stern gets locked in the sewer and stumbles upon a  CHUD party but it’s not like we get to see them , that privilege is only reserved for Stern, who I kept expecting to get hit with a flying can of paint or two by four with nails a la Home Alone style.

 The coolest scene in the movie  is when a big mean CHUD invades the home of some female character whose purpose in the film was oblivious to me. He comes in, his neck expands, then grows allowing for the girl to decapitate him with a machete she just happened to keep around her house. The blood is green radioactive goo. It is gross. But it was not a head getting shot off by laser beams. Sorry CHUD. Maybe you should have more CHUD sex so there are more CHUD babies so there are more CHUDS in the effen movie next time!

What Would H.P Lovecraft Think?

I’m not sure if it would be “Wiccan Prayer Circle” but I must say I don’t really even know what to think after hanging out at the Lovecraft last night. The Lovecraft is a self-proclaimed “Horror Themed Bar” located on the corner of SE Grand and Oak.

 Let me start out by saying, I never had a Goth phase. Thank god. I had my “wanna be Seattle grunge” phase but I skipped over the black capes and lipstick and coffin shaped purses. I just love horror movies, all different kinds and I  was hoping for an homage to my favorite October fare. Let’s just say I was a tad bit off. This is what I walked into last night:

Not a cool horror movie playing in the background as my naïve self had hoped, but ambient “lost in the woods” monotone music accompanied by a projector screen filled with dead winter branches...I was looking around for the sacrificial lamb.  There in fact was a Wiccan Prayer Circle occurring and I happened to notice the guy who has the steel rods implanted under my head to look more like Satan having a pleasant argument with some gutter punks about Christianity.(Boring! And totally predictable!) Lets talk about how wack Christianity is in a Goth bar? Please that’s more common than hipsters fighting over who hates Mumford and Sons more at the Aalto Lounge. I felt slightly out of place but that did not matter. Most of the time I was engaged with my friend Sean in Horror movie talk. One thing I was surprised to discover last night is that dreadlocks aren’t just for hippies anymore; they are beloved by the Goths too.  

The horror movie nerd in me was excited at the prospect of a bar modeled after some of my favorite type of entertainment and the décor of the place was mostly spot on. Framed photographs or actors that had portrayed Dracula, some vintage H.P Lovecraft posters, skeletal remains of cows and other unfortunate animals and a large mural of a creature straight from the mind of Lovecraft himself. The lighting scheme was abundant with hues of red which complemented the mise en scene.

I was not thrilled by my $6 dollar glass of red wine…when I asked the bartender (who was very pleasant) what type of red; Merlot, Cab.. he responded..”just a blend.” Oookay… At least PBR was only 2 bucks. All I wanted to see was some movie posters and bad Halloween decorations..maybe this place was too sophisticated for me or maybe just a wee bit too Goth.  Can’t say I didn’t try!  I sure did not stay for the show which I got out of paying five bucks for. Wonder what type of show that would have been? Perhaps I just missed out on that sacrificial lamb. Oh fiddlesticks! Maybe next time….or not…sorry Lovecraft.

Please Stop Jogging During Happy Hour and The Great Brake Light Crisis

I have never understood this concept of “urban jogging” otherwise known as “hey pedestrian! Get the fuck out of the way so that I may jog in place at every stoplight and intersection because I can’t find a fucking park or gym to save my life.”

I do advocate exercise. I might even go as far to say joint destroying running is okay.  But there is nothing that ruins that first sip of mojito or ice cold beer  like some b- hole huffing and puffing past your table with that twinkle in his eye that says “loser.”

My first sip of wonderful Pino Noir turns from perfect to self-pity. “Wow maybe I should be exercising instead of sitting on my ass drinking alcohol.” I look down at the happy hour platter of fried delicacies such a freeze dried potatoes and cheese sticks and think to myself “I bet that guy is having tempah and buckwheat for dinner..fuck no wonder that personal trainer at the gym looks at me like a leper!”

I remember when I used to work at Starbucks this group of guys  that I affectionately referred to as “the boys club” would bust in the door at 5 am panting  and sweating  all over the place and get to the resister and have a five-minute conversation amongst themselves that went something like this.. “Gary coffee? Joe coffee? Larry coffee? Roger coffee? Stan coffee?” And they would all ask each other five times...Gary would ask Larry and Larry would ask Stan who would ask Gary again and Gary would ask Joe but mean to ask Stan..

The whole time I’m thinking, “What the fuck did you come in here for? To show all other patrons that you douches just went on a sweet ass jog at 4am? That you are more dedicated than the rest of us?” Get your decaf and move along...this is not a sting operation of Runner’s World to surprise your “gang” that you have all been selected to be on their next cover. I swear today if I saw that same group of guys jog past me sitting outside a bar on a nice day I would yell at them “get off the street and go home and relax al-fucking-ready!”

When did brake light have to start being the size of Christmas hams? Since when did the nice small rounded red light turn into an obnoxious  retina burning bundle of smaller red lights that have more business being  on a light up billboard that on the back end of a car? Some of the worst offenders? Prius and that new Kia SUV model...Seriously I get out of my car and blink and the horrible sight is still in front of my eyelids. I can’t turn away from them  because how will I know when you stop? I am totally that douche now that when I see a Prius trying to merge in front of me I speed up because I want to save my eyes from the blood red strobe light of death. I might have to go to the eye doctor for the first time in my life if you people keep this Prius buying shit up…maybe eye doctor and Toyota are in cahoots with each other.. (In voive of smarmy doctor) “You burn their eyeballs.. they give money to my practice..mwa haha !!”

God Bless Trader Joes and Joseph Gorden-Levitt

As I sit here eating my poor polish farmer lunch of lentils and vodka it makes me nostalgic for the "fraud" dinner I prepared last night. Trader Joe's has solidified itself (at least for me) as the "Best way to Fool your Boyfriend Into Thinking You Are An Awesome Cook" standby. The food chain has fooled many people into thinking that their friends actually know what an appetizer is or that "gluten free bread is the new bubble tea."
 As my sig other sits on the couch uttering phrases such as "smells delightful" I can't help but snicker as I pour a bunch of frozen vegetables and rip open a sauce packet with my bare teeth.
"How did you create such a good sauce?" My boyfriend asks.
" Trader Ming secret dude."
I can't give all the credit to Trader Joe's for a successful meal last night...we must also thank beer NOT from Trader Joe's (Sorry Trader Jose)and the accompanied viewing of a movie titled "Hesher."
Within the  first fifteen minutes I made the assumption that this was going to be one of those slow paced movies where the characters never really say anything that someone would say in real life and you just want to punch them threw the TV when all they say is "okay" after after another persons goes off on a heartfelt rant.
Turns out I was a little pre-mature with my "hatin'" and it was a movie with believable characters who were truly defined by their unremarkability and Joseph Gorden-Levitt's character Hesher exsisitng only to make them visible to each other. This profound speech comes as a metaphor about a missing nut which if you ask me, metaphors don't get any better than that!
The movie has a controlled chaos with likable performances from Natalie Portman as the "nerdy cute stranger" and Rainn Wilson as the "depressed bearded dad."
Every scene in the movie is inhibited by the main character T.J. a boy of about 12. Normally this would piss me off as in many zombie movies when 5 adults "go back to get the kid" like a half of one of them comes back.Loosing 5 characters for 1? Stupid.
T.J. is angsty and has his rights to be that way. But it is his interactions with Hesher that bring him down to a bottom that he needs to be at to see what needs to happen to improve his progress in life.
Best Scene: Hesher has a "pool party."
Back to my lentils.....